


John Never Thought of Rodney That Way (Except When He Did)

by apple_pi



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teyla was snickering. Or she would have been if she did that sort of thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Never Thought of Rodney That Way (Except When He Did)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to secrethappiness for excellent beta services. I totally owe her chocolate-covered ~~strawberries~~ Flanigan.

“McKay – do you – _dammit_ , Rodney –”

Teyla was snickering. Or she would have been if she did that sort of thing. Instead, she was just _looking_ a snicker, and John tried to glare at her as he removed McKay’s hand from his thigh. Again.

Ronon was snickering audibly.

“Rodney, get your hands off my – hey!” John jerked and grabbed for Rodney’s hand before it could do any more damage. Rodney seemed content to twine his fingers through John’s for the moment, although he was stroking his thumb along John’s wrist bone and it was really... weird. He was also mumbling unintelligibly into John’s throat. “Uh, a little help here, guys?” 

Teyla lifted her hands helplessly, smiling. “I do not believe that Dr. McKay will allow me to remove him from your, ah, proximity, Colonel.”

John looked at Ronon; Ronon raised one eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

“Colonel,” Rodney mumbled. He snuggled closer to John, pressing his face into his neck. “You smell… nice.” Holy Jesus, was Rodney _licking_ him? John twitched violently. 

“That tickles, dammit,” he said. He looked at Teyla. “Could you maybe explain to the nice people that Rodney’s feeling, uh – shit!” He craned his head, trying to get away from Rodney’s determined attempt to give him a hickey. 

“Just get us somewhere private so I can calm him down!” John hissed. Rodney was about five seconds from humping John’s leg, and the village headwoman was looking distinctly unamused. “I’ll sedate him if I have to, but for the love of god and those grains we negotiated for, get us away from this damned campfire.”

Teyla’s lips thinned – she was trying not to _laugh out loud_ and John really hated her a lot – and turned to the headwoman.

“It seems the doctor has had an adverse reaction to the _khenevir_ ,” Teyla explained, “it is certainly no reflection upon the quality of the herb – as you can see, the rest of the team has benefited from this most generous sharing. Doctor McKay has a sensitive constitution, however, and the Colonel feels that perhaps it would be best if he were allowed to –”

Teyla’s soft voice lilted, Ronon grinned, the headwoman looked irritated but somewhat appeased, and John carried on with his losing battle to preserve some sense of virtue in the face of Rodney’s wandering hands and the happy little noises he made as he snuffled at John’s neck, hair, shoulder and arm. 

“There is a guesthouse you may utilize,” Teyla was saying, and John struggled to his feet, Rodney plastered to his side. “This way,” Teyla said, and John flashed an apologetic smile at the headwoman.

“Sorry,” he said, “really, the weed was great, thanks, we’ll just, uh –” He squawked and tried to whirl around as Rodney’s palm slid over his buttock, but seeing how Rodney was clinging to him like a really heavy, gropey vine, it didn’t do much good. “Sorry, good night,” John croaked, and followed Teyla’s slim, erect back into the darkness. He could hear Ronon snickering again, and Rodney’s hand was warm on his ass, even through the stiff fabric of the BDUs.

“Here,” Teyla said, “this is the guesthouse.” It was a cabin, it was secluded, no one would hear when John _beat Rodney to death_ ; it was fine.

“Great,” John said, “uh, where are you and Ronon going to, I mean –”

“There is another house, not far from here.” Teyla opened the door and John dragged Rodney inside. The interior was golden with light from a hanging lantern in the center of the room; otherwise it contained plain, sturdy furnishings and a smooth wooden floor. “I shall keep my radio with me, but the Taash have always been reliable trading partners, and I do not think we are in any danger. I shall check in with Elizabeth at the appointed time and assure her that all is well.” 

John tried to remove Rodney’s hand from his hip. “Great, sounds good. Just don’t tell her about Dr. McGrabass here, okay?” John made a face. “Rodney’ll kill me if word gets out once he sobers up.”

Teyla smirked. “Oh, I do not know,” she said. “Considering his reaction when Ronon tried to separate the two of you, I believe Dr. McKay may want to make his claim quite public.”

“Good night,” John said, and shut the door in her face. He could hear her laugh fade as she walked away.

Right, so... now what? 

“Time for bed, Rodney,” John said. Rodney lifted his head – John’s neck was damp, now, dammit, and he shivered a little – and looked positively delighted.

“Oh good,” he said. “A _bed_.”

And if John had been embarrassed when Rodney was groping him in front of Ronon and Teyla and the entire population of the village, it was nothing compared to what he felt when Rodney shoved him back against the wall and started trying to undress him.

“Rodney, no –” John got out before Rodney’s mouth landed on his while Rodney’s hands worked at his tac vest. And it just wasn’t fair, dammit, because it wasn’t like John had thought about Rodney, about sex with Rodney, before tonight, but god, he was definitely thinking about it now. Big hands and sloppy enthusiasm, Rodney’s wet, hot mouth all over instead of just on his throat led to John thinking about Rodney’s mouth on John’s _cock_ , oh, that would be... But, uh, no, they shouldn’t, because. Oh, right. “Stop it, Rodney, c’mon,” John said into Rodney’s mouth. “We can’t.”

“But I want to,” Rodney mumbled mulishly, and sucked John’s tongue into his mouth.

“Gblrngh,” John said. God, Rodney would give really _good_ head, that was the hell of it – he was practically fucking John’s mouth with his tongue, and John could feel his resolution dissolving, much like his kneecaps. “No!” John said clearly, and pushed Rodney away.

Rodney looked disappointed. “Colonel.” He peered into John’s face. “Are you straight? Is that it?” He crowded close again, breathing into John’s mouth and that probably shouldn’t be hot, but. “You don’t _feel_ straight,” Rodney said. John yelped as a frank and curious hand cupped his crotch through the heavy grey fabric.

“I’m not – that’s just a, uh, reaction,” John stuttered. “Automatic guy reaction to the thought of a blowjob.” His hands were on Rodney’s arms – wow, good biceps, that felt, huh – but he wasn’t quite pushing him away.

“I never said blowjob,” Rodney informed him, eyes glittering under heavy lids. He squeezed and John forgot about breathing for a second. “But that’s a good idea.”

He dropped to his knees and went to work on John’s belt and pants. John tugged weakly at his ears, his hair, but his heart wasn’t in it and Rodney just said “Hmmm,” and nuzzled at John’s thigh until he got his pants unbuttoned and started nuzzling at his underwear. “Boxer briefs,” John heard him mutter, “and you claim you’re straight.”

“Hey,” John said, voice squeaking a little, “that’s a myth, lots of straight guys wear, oh – uh, I mean, Rodney, no...” _Rodney, well okay_ , he thought. Rodney had his pants and briefs halfway down his thighs and John’s cock was in its happy place: a hot, wet mouth. “Ah, fuck it,” John said. Rodney’d been groping him for over an hour and John had been hard for most of that time, and, and – John’s head made a hollow clunking sound as it fell back against the door. “Fuck, ah, Rodney – good, oh – feels –”

There was some vague notion that he should praise Rodney, because it seemed like the polite thing to do, but Rodney didn’t seem to need much encouragement. He was making low, rough, pleased noises, head bobbing, tight lips sliding up and down John’s shaft while his tongue (John should have known it would be strong) did unlikely things to the head and John was, he was, “I’m, oh, uh, Rodney I gotta, I need to, I’m –” John saw stars, fingers scrabbling at the wood behind him as his hips jerked and his dick spurted, warm and eager in the safe, tight darkness of Rodney’s mouth.

Rodney sucked right through it and then sat back on his heels; John looked down just in time to see the head of his still-hard cock slide wetly from Rodney’s mouth. One last drop of come welled up at the slit and began to drip away, but Rodney glanced up at him and licked it off. 

“Ngk,” John said.

“My turn now,” Rodney said. He stayed where he was and unlaced John’s boots, and his fingers didn’t seem to be drugged; they were as nimble and clever as ever and John would have stopped Rodney but he might as well let him take his boots off, he figured. Someone would have to do that anyway, right? They were going to sleep here. Just – John’s breath stuttered a little as Rodney stripped off boots, then socks, then began unbuckling the thigh holster, ignoring John’s limp, pink dick, bobbing near Rodney’s ear – just sleep, sure. 

“We should get some sleep,” John said.

Rodney snorted and tossed the holster, gun and all, toward the bed. He yanked John’s pants and (very manly, very heterosexual) boxer briefs down. “Right,” he said. “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.”

“Rodney, this is a really bad thing, uh, idea, I mean,” Rodney stood up and John was talking to the crown of his head as he unfastened the tac vest, “you’re high, you had some kind of reaction to that herb stuff we smoked with the Taash.”

“I feel fine.” Rodney looked up and smiled at him, pushing the vest back, pulling John away from the door so it could slide off his shoulders, down his arms, dropping to the floor with a faint, clinking thud. “Here. Check for yourself.” He grabbed John’s hand and placed it squarely on his crotch. “See?”

There was nothing leering about the look on his face, and god, he was hard, and he dressed to the left, and John probably shouldn’t be swallowing to rid his mouth of excess saliva at the thought of sucking McKay’s cock.

“Um,” John replied. “That’s, uh.”

“Yeah, so.” Rodney leaned forward and nuzzled him, pressing his fully-clothed, very interested body against John’s mostly naked, very satisfied one. “Take off your shirt.” Rodney stepped back and began stripping without waiting to see if John would obey. 

John watched him hopping around the room, trying to get his boots off without unlacing them far enough. He did get them off, and he got off his pants and his boxers (they had some kind of molecule on them, John would bet his dessert rations it was a coffee molecule) and Rodney was throwing _his_ tac vest onto the floor and pulling his shirt (blue, he always looked nice in blue) over his head and then. Well, then Rodney was standing there with his naked hands on his naked hips, wearing white athletic socks and messy hair and an impatient look that reminded John disturbingly of how he looked in every staff briefing, ever. “You’re still wearing your shirt,” Rodney said. 

“You’re so high,” John said.

Rodney crossed to him and stripped the shirt off, pulling him back until they toppled onto the bed. “Mmm,” he said, “god, how do you smell so good?” Before John could (tell himself he was really going to) roll off Rodney and retreat and get dressed again, Rodney rolled them and he was pressing all over John, heavy and warm and a little sweaty and it just wasn’t fair, it wasn’t, not at all. “Wish I had some lube,” he said.

“What makes you think –” John began to stutter, meaning to finish _I’d roll over and let you fuck me?_ Never mind the fact that his thighs were already spreading, letting Rodney settle into the cradle of his hips, practically setting up a welcome table for him with donuts and hot chocolate.

Rodney interrupted though, not listening as usual. “I could get off like this,” he said, voice dreamy and dragging, rocking his hips into John’s pelvis in a slow, grinding rhythm that was, that was _obscene_ actually, and unfairly hot.

“You are so going to kill me,” John moaned. His hands were skimming down Rodney’s back: sweat-damp and broad, shoulder blades moving under the skin. “God, Rodney.”

“Mm. Hush,” Rodney said, and dropped his head into the crook of John’s shoulder as he began to thrust against him in earnest. “Ah, ah, ah,” Rodney breathed, and John found his hands on Rodney’s ass.

He squeezed, giving up, and set his feet flat on the hard mattress, pushing up to meet each roll of Rodney’s hips. “They’ll never find my body, will they?” John asked the ceiling, and closed his eyes, listening to Rodney’s short, gasping breaths. “This is so unfair,” John murmured. 

“Hush,” Rodney panted into his neck, and then “Ah! God, shit, oh, oh,” and he shuddered hard and came, slick wet over John’s hip and belly, their bodies sliding together immediately, slippery press of skin on skin with bonus reduced friction. “Oh,” Rodney said one last time, and went limp.

“McKay? Rodney?” John patted uselessly at his back and bottom, rewarded by a quiet, almost sweet snore in his ear. “Oh, you fucker,” John growled, and he didn’t know if he meant the (really _heavy_ ) scientist having a nap on his torso, or himself, for letting the sex happen and then – insult to injury! – actually thinking that the snores were (sort of, a little bit) cute. “Wake up!” John said loudly, and smacked Rodney’s ass. 

Which was a tactical error, perhaps, since Rodney’s ass felt really nice: round and smooth, cheeks fitting into John’s curved hands as though they belonged there. And his dick was taking a renewed interest in events, it seemed. John opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling some more. Rodney was going to kill him, but the good news was that he might be slowly suffocated by Rodney’s weight before morning, which was preferable to whatever method of dispatch Rodney was going to think up. 

On a normal day, Rodney could be really _creative_ about murdering John. Add hungover and vindictive to the mix and John didn't stand a chance. Definitely better to suffocate. John just hoped his hard-on went away before the time of death, because rigor mortis was going to be embarrassing enough as it was. He sighed and then fell asleep. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do, at least for the moment.

...

Everything was too bright. John felt kind of hungover, and his ass hurt. Why did his ass hurt?

Oh, yeah.

“It is time to go, Colonel,” Teyla was saying, and John rolled over and groaned as he jerked like he’d been shot, pulling the rough coverlet over himself. “Colonel? Are you awake?”

He opened his eyes cautiously.

No Teyla. Okay, so she was talking to him through the door. Got it. …No Rodney either.

“Ungh,” John said. He coughed and tried again. “Is Rodney with you?”

“He and Ronon are in the village square, having breakfast with the headwoman. Do you require assistance, Colonel?” Her voice was genuinely concerned, but John got the feeling she was still doing that whole inaudible snickering thing.

“I’m fine. I’ll be there in a minute, go on back,” he called.

He groaned a few times as he stumbled around the room, trying to assemble himself into someone vaguely resembling Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. At least he didn’t have to do anything about the hair. He pulled on his underwear, wincing slightly. Everything felt tender and… wet. Not thinking about that, not thinking about that, John chanted to himself, and nearly fell over sideways trying to get his pants on.

Eventually he emerged; if everything had been too bright inside the snug little building, it was positively blinding out here, even with the shade of the trees. John whimpered (just a little, because no one was around to hear) and fumbled his sunglasses on. He forced his shoulders down as he sauntered out of the shadows and into the square.

There was the rest of his team, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed; Rodney was shoveling food in at a rate that made John kind of ill to watch, and Ronon was right there with him. Teyla and the headwoman were chatting amiably, sipping at something that John was sure was not coffee (since McKay didn’t have his face buried in a pot of the stuff). 

“Morning, everyone,” John said, settling carefully onto the bench. “Madame,” he ducked his head at the wrinkled old crone; she smiled at him.

“The merchants have finished loading our goods onto the jumper,” Teyla said. “When you have finished your food we may leave.” A child appeared, a plateful of... something clutched in its hands. 

“Great,” John mumbled, smiling at the kid and taking the plate. “Sounds like a plan.” He toyed with the food, not looking at Teyla or Ronon or the headwoman or Rodney, who hadn’t even had the grace to stop demolishing his food, for God’s sake. After a while John passed his leftovers (almost everything) over to Ronon and just sat hunched in headachy misery until Teyla had mercy on him.

“So why the hell do I have a hangover?” John hissed as they walked toward the jumper, less than half a kilometer away.

Teyla looked him over, then turned her attention back to her footing. “Some people have that reaction to the _khenevir_ ,” she said kindly. “It happens to one in four or so of those who smoke the plant, particularly the first time.”

“McKay looks okay,” John whined, and sure enough he did, stomping through the sunshine like some kind of, well, big awkward stomping thing. John’s head hurt.

“Dr. McKay does not seem to remember the events of last night very well,” Teyla said. “It is true he seemed somewhat morose this morning, but food appears to have cheered him considerably.” 

“Fucker,” John muttered. He kept quiet for the rest of the walk.

And he kept quiet back at Atlantis, too, only speaking enough to order a detail to unload the goods from the jumper and turn over the briefing to Teyla before he excused himself. “I didn’t sleep well,” he said, squinting at Rodney, who at least had the grace to turn pink. “I’m going to see Carson and then go to bed.” He tried a little stomping of his own but it made the headache worse, and also didn’t feel so good in the nether regions. He slunk away instead, wondering about Rodney’s apparent obliviousness.

Even if Rodney didn’t remember last night – the public groping, the private blowjob and humping and later, after waking John from a sound sleep, a round of fairly spectacularly dirty sex – he must have noticed that he’d woken up this morning in bed with his team leader, wearing nothing but his socks.

Right?

Carson cleared him of alien ailments and prescribed aspirin and water, lots of water, before sending John off to catch up on his sleep.

Which might have been easier to do if Rodney fucking McKay hadn’t started pounding on his door two hours later, waking John up from the uneasy sleep he’d settled into after drugs (the legal kind) and water (applied internally and externally) had been indulged in.

“What?” he demanded, not bothering to get out of bed. He pulled the sheet over his waist and glared at Rodney, who glared right back, solid and square in the doorway and definitely not looking like he’d been up all night whispering obscene suggestions and demands into various bits of John’s anatomy. 

“Get up!” Rodney said. “We need you to turn something on in the lab.”

“Are there Wraith hive ships bombarding Atlantis?” John growled. “Are any of my men bleeding to death? Is a plague decimating the population? Have any of you,” John leaned forward and spoke the words between his teeth, “brought back a mysteriously charming man that you want me to come meet so I can possibly hand over all of our top secret weapons and intelligence?”

Rodney blinked at him. “No. I found something really cool and it just kind of clicks when I touch it, so I want you to jump-start it for me.” He made a face. “Just put on some clothes first. I don’t want to see anything unfortunate. I’ll wait in the hall.”

Something snapped. “You stuck your tongue up my ass!” John yelled.

Rodney went red so fast John had the brief fear he’d go into cardiac arrest then and there. “WHAT?!” he shrieked. “I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT! EW!”

“You did! I woke up in the middle of the night with you doing perver – taking advan – _molesting me!_ ” John yelled. “And you don’t even have the common decency to have a hangover today!”

“You are such a liar!” McKay shouted. “If anyone took advantage it was YOU! I was drugged to the gills! You _used_ me!”

John wasn’t sure how Rodney managed to look like a wounded princess while breathing so hard he was snorting.

“I tried to fight you off!” John retorted. “You talked me into it! I’ve never done that many filthy things in that short of a time in my _life_ , and I’ve done some pretty filthy things, McKay!”

And, uh.

The door was still open, Rodney was standing half in the corridor, clutching his chest dramatically, and maybe this wasn’t a conversation all of Atlantis needed to hear. John covered his face for a second and then looked up, trying to hiss at Rodney to just come in so they could fight it out properly, without alerting anyone else.

Too late.

“I SHOULD FILE CHARGES!” Rodney bellowed. “I WOKE UP NAKED WITH YOU AND I DON’T REMEMBER ANYTHING, DAMMIT!”

He whirled and stamped away, the door sliding quietly shut behind him. “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK,” John yelled at the door, and then, more quietly and into his hands: “Fuck.”

He looked up a moment later.

 _Dammit_?

...

This was obviously one of those situations where Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell could really come into its own. It could shine, as it were, illuminating a clear path of “You totally did not hear that, corporal” and “Hear what, sir?” that would allow John to pick his way across the social and professional minefield he’d laid, and not commit hari-kiri off the southeast pier. 

Rodney was easy enough to avoid; he had three or four experiments hitting critical in the labs and they hadn’t planned any missions for the next few days, anyway. By a cunning combination of being in a jumper all day, every day (scouting out harvestable gates, of course) and practicing the most concentrated version of conscious ignorance _ever_ , John was also able to avoid the rumor mill, which was churning away at a rate unparalleled since Pierce and Everly had screaming, moaning sex in a supply closet and forgot to turn off their radios. 

He missed Rodney.

It was kind of (incredibly) stupid. But even if Rodney didn’t remember, John did. His libido, which had calmed down quite a lot since his only options seemed to be alien priestesses and that creepy edaphologist Naquin who eyed him like some kind of edible _loam_ sample, thought that memories of the blowjob, or the middle-of-the-night fucking (god, particularly that one part, where John came so hard he thought he’d actually sprained something) were the best thing since hand lotion was invented. John had gotten into the habit of jerking off once a day or so, but now he found himself slinking off to his quarters at least three times a day. (Or cloaking the puddlejumper in orbit around some deserted world and slinking to the rear compartment to do it, which was actually kind of fabulous, since it allowed for jumper-sex-with-Rodney-fantasies. Except John was pretty sure he should stop having any-kind-of-sex-with-Rodney fantasies, and soon.) 

And even beyond the incredible drugged-up sex, John missed _Rodney_ – he missed hearing him rant about the stupidity of everyone else in the galaxy (times two), and he missed the happy face he made when the mess cooks provided pudding, and he missed Rodney’s particular way of looking at him, which was (he realized, now that hindsight had analyzed and over-analyzed it) composed of two parts irritation, three parts amusement, and one part grudging respect. There were another couple of parts in there somewhere, John thought, but he still didn’t know what they were. Curiosity, maybe? (Lust?)

John was sitting on the southeast pier at sunset on the third day after the screaming match. His legs dangled over the side of the jetty; his arms were hooked through the lowest bar of the rail.

“Don’t jump,” Rodney said tonelessly behind him.

“Don’t worry,” John said, just as flat.

Rodney slumped onto the concrete beside him and took up a similar position. “You could see the sunset a lot better from the west pier, you know,” he said.

“I suspect you’re right, what with the sun setting in the west and all,” John said irritably. “I just like it here.” They stared over the plain of water for a while; anti-crepuscular rays stretched toward the horizon, creating the illusion of a sunset before them even as the water deepened from aquamarine to deep azure, beginning to grey out. “So, you coming to serve me assault papers?”

“No,” Rodney said. John snuck a glance at him. His mouth was turned downward and he had ridiculously long eyelashes. “Teyla told me she’d file her own version of events if I did any such thing. You know, the non-drugged-up version. I think mine would’ve held up about as well as a tissue paper bridge over Niagara Falls.”

John was pretty sure he should be irritated that Rodney had even considered it. “Pretty much. I bet I could get the old lady from the village to testify on my behalf, too. She didn’t like you very much.”

Rodney sighed. “Yeah. There’s a lot of that going around.” He bumped his chin on his arm. “I wouldn’t have done it anyway, even if it had been true. Missions are just…” he shrugged one shoulder. “You know. Missions.”

John wanted to pat him on the shoulder. Or give him a blowjob.

“I’m a little conflicted here, McKay,” he said.

Rodney shot him an unhappy look. “Over which method of death you’re going to deal out?”

John nearly snorted. “Um. No.”

Rodney looked away again, shoulders hunched. He set his chin on the rail and swung his feet over the long drop. “What, then? I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I didn’t mean to.” His whole face went slowly, deeply pink. “To molest you. Or whatever I did, since I still don’t remember.”

“Hey, Rodney,” John said. He inched closer. “The other day you said you didn’t remember… _dammit_. Why dammit?”

Rodney huffed out a breath. “What?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” John said sharply. “Come on.”

“I don’t know,” Rodney said. “I don’t remember what I might have meant.” His face went, improbably, pinker. “I was just yelling, babbling probably, you know how I do that. Well, people say I do that – I’ve never really seen it, myself. Personally I think people just can’t follow what I’m saying, so they slap a _label_ on it and belittle it –”

“McKay.” John jabbed him in the side with one finger.

“Ow! What?” Rodney looked at him, eyes round and blue in the blue light.

John leaned toward him. “You. Owe. Me.”

Rodney blinked and looked away, then back, hesitant and tense. His mouth was a thin line, sloping downward. John wondered if Rodney had ever calculated the line of descent of his mouth in various moods. Wondered if he’d get to.

“I know I owe you,” Rodney said.

“Why _dammit_ , then, dammit?” John wrapped his hands around the rail and waited, the metal warming under his sweaty palms.

“Dammit, because.” Rodney looked away, but forced himself to say the words even though every syllable looked like an effort. “Because I figure that was my one night of debauchery and I don’t even remember it.” He glanced at John and tried to smile; it looked wretched. “Dammit.”

“Debauchery in general, or…” John didn’t want to ask, but hell, Rodney had been brave. It was the least he could do. “Or with me?” He leaned back, unable to be still. “You can say no, I just want to know.” He straightened again, hooking his elbows over the metal.

“Doesn’t this violate Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell or something?” Rodney murmured. 

“Applies to me, not you. And hell, it only applies to me and other military, for that matter.” John poked him again. “Was it generalized, or me? Spill.”

“You’re so annoying,” Rodney said. “You, all right?” He snapped his mouth closed and stared away over the water.

“Oh,” John said, blank. “Really?”

Rodney didn’t look at him. “I’m not saying it again. Ever. So don’t fish.”

“But Rodney,” John said, inching even closer. “We’re in the perfect place for fishing.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Rodney said, squinting meanly at him. “I take it back. I can’t believe I could be attracted to someone who would make such a lame-ass pun.” 

John smirked. “You said I smelled good,” he said. “And you gave me a blow job.” Rodney’s eyes were getting big and panicky. “Then you stripped me and held me down and performed lewd sex acts on my person.”

Rodney stopped looking scared.

He _grinned_. (John felt a little scared himself. And pretty turned on.)

“You liked it!” Rodney shouted. “A _ha!_ ”

John shrugged one shoulder. The one pressed against Rodney’d shoulder. “Yeah, pretty much.” He grinned, too.

“Oh my god!” Rodney turned toward him, the light of discovery on his face. “You liked it! You like _me!_ Oh my god!” He was nearly bouncing in place. “And you want to do it again! With me! HA!” 

John frowned at him. “Gloating is _so_ unattractive.”

Rodney laughed in his face. “You’re such a liar! You like me and I gloat all the time!” He grabbed John’s head and mashed their mouths together.

It was a terrible angle and John’s elbow banged the metal rail with a gong-like clang and Rodney’s teeth kind of crashed into his. John thought it was fantastic.

“Oh my god,” Rodney was saying into his mouth, even as he pulled away to breathe. His hands had slid down to clench in John’s t-shirt, like John might try to get away. He’d caught a little of John’s chest hair in one fist, and it hurt, now that John wasn’t busy having the life kissed out of him. “What did I do to you? Can I do it again?” He blinked into John’s eyes, sharp and delighted.

“Yeah.” John winced and loosened Rodney’s hand by the simple expedient of grabbing it and moving it somewhere else, namely his crotch. (Well, why not? It had to go somewhere.) “You can definitely do it again, and my bed’s more comfortable than that rock we had on Planet Rasta.”

“My bed,” Rodney said. “I have a prescription mattress.” He squeezed John’s crotch and then scrambled to his feet. “Come on.”

“There’s no hurry,” John mumbled, following more slowly. He was going to limp all the way if his hard-on didn’t subside. He eyed the front of Rodney’s pants. Well, they’d both limp. That was good. 

“Are you kidding? My brain thinks I haven’t had sex in _months_ ,” Rodney said. “There’s definitely a hurry.” He began walking toward the balcony doors, fast and stiff-legged.

“So did you just want to do the stuff we did the other night?” John asked, catching up as Rodney began hurrying down the corridor. “Because I didn’t get to blow you, and I was a little disappointed.”

Rodney gave him an incredulous look and grabbed his elbow, dragging him faster. “I’m feeling kind of disappointed just hearing about it,” he said, and shoved John into the transporter. 

John slapped the destination pad and smirked at Rodney. “Life’s too short for regrets,” he said, pulling Rodney toward himself.

The doors slid shut on a scandalous view.


End file.
